Forgotten
by semi-haphazard.writer
Summary: Dawn has been overlooked all of these years, just like she wanted to be. Making her way through high school, day by day, waiting impatiently to get out. When after 48 hours, she must quickly learn to cope with attention, the supernatural, and feeling's of a teenage boy. Stiles/OC
1. Timing

There is a timing to everything. Creating perfect moments of suspense, luck, happiness, and whatever passionate feeling, timing drives our wants and desires, fulfilling our goals. Most of the time, people only acknoledge the prescense as a coincidence, that it was a lucky situation. But there are others in the world, always working, always attempting to master the art.

I am but a student, of the art. In the hell I am sprung upon, new techniques and alterations to habits are welcome. Patterns come slowly, so as not to go noticed by the general populace. Everyday reveals another test I must past. If I make it through the day successfully, on my terms, then all that practice has paid off. If I don't, then all the hard work from the past years drops down the drain and I'm exposed. I'd be thrown into society, fresh and new, invaded by the parasites. Mastering time is not a want, it is a need.

I need to be invisible.

When people think back to their high school years, middle school, whatever. Reminiscing their friendships, stupid boyfriends, and drugged up parties, people sometimes think of the figures that made the background. I want the image of me, in the backdrop to not appear. I want it to be gone, and never resurface again. Overlooked would be a good way to describe me. Teachers, classmates, janitors, lunchladies; to them I am overlooked. Brushed off to the side as percentages, I am not an individual, just another tooth in the machine. I cause no problems, state no opinions, get by with good enough grades to not be cared about, and speak up barely enough so that I'm not remembered as the quiet girl. Everyday, I'm testing, getting closer to the finish line. Only a few more years, and I'm done. I can escape. but for now...

I have to be **forgotten**.


	2. Routines

The first day of sophomore year has come and passed. Just like that, two more years are left of high school. By the end of the week, everyone's back to their same routine. Cliques reinstated, teachers adjusted, and the halls overcome with noise. Summer marked its final chapter, allowing fall to drizzle in with its cold rains and winds. And already, the leaves of the trees are starting to turn. Beacon Hills has always smelled like fog and the forest, but during the fall, the scent is ever apparent. The flowers release the last of their scent, and for a while in the early fall, the air smells as fresh as spring, before it goes away. Even with nature's excited scent, Beacon Hills is in a flurry more than ever. A murder in the woods and a winning lacrosse team awakens the town.

Saturday mornings are the best time for outings in the town. At least they are for Dawn. It means all the last night partiers are too hung-over to be out yet, and families sleep in a little more than usual. But for Dawn, she's been up at the same time for the past five years, and that isn't going to change anytime soon. By eight, she's already navigated her way to the public library. Its her favorite place in the world, filled to the brim with information, and a new story eagerly awaiting for its pages to be read. She's been to the library so many times and for so long, she practically works there. She'll restock the shelves, reorganize, and help out patrons when the real librarians get too busy. But most of the time, Dawn travels to the back of the building, amongst all the study desks, and skyscraper level bookshelves filled with non-fiction titles. Sitting down, she spreads the contents out from her canvas bag : school notebooks with reminders on essays already assigned and due the next week, novels waiting to be read, and a laptop for all the papers. A sigh escapes her lips as she falls back into the cheaply padded library chair. She closes her eyes for just a second to rest until they are open to the sound of someone sitting next to her.

"Bright and early as always, Dawn."

The joke does not go unnoticed as she lets a smile crawl on her face.

"Nice to see you this morning too, Isaac."

He smiles back at Dawn, ruffling his hands through his hair, wiping them off on his face. Isaac's permanent expression on his face has always been tired. The dark bags on his eyes have never gone away, and even with the possible years of long sleep, they would still remain. It ages his face, and the sullen cheeks do not help.

"Graveyard shift last night?" Dawn tilts her head to get a better view of Isaac. She's always liked studying him. Even now, after the countless times of seeing him this way in the morning, she is curious. His eyebrows always move apart from another, quirking in different directions. The muscles on his face are each independent, causing Isaac to have a unique expression to everything. He looks back to Dawn, his left eyebrow raised and the right side of his lip tilted in a lop-sided grin.

"As always," Isaac replies, continuing on to grab a notebook from his bag, "I don't know why I wake up so early to get here every Saturday."

"And Sunday." Dawn adds.

"And Sunday." He mimics.

She rolls her eyes at him. "Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I'm the only one willing to help you with your homework."

Isaac jerks his head back in realization. "True, but also, you're the only that won't laugh at the reason of why I need help." Dawn nods her head in agreement. Isaac is smart, but working nights for the cemetery stop him from his schoolwork. Teachers identify him as the kid turning assignments in late in contribution to falling asleep during lectures. Only over the weekends does Isaac have time to get his assignments properly done. It's times like these, at the library with Dawn, that he can write essays, study for tests, and work on projects.

Flipping open his notebook, Isaac reads from the sticky note's list of assignments.

"Three page paper on the architecture of the 19th century and its effect on the shaping culture of the UK during this time, five pages on the significance of Javert in Les Miserables and his influence in the story line, workbook 1 – 15…" the list goes on for Isaac, finishing up to a few quick printouts of data for Chemistry.

"What the hell Dawn. It's only the first week of sophomore year and they're expecting this shit from us?" He looks at Dawn with his eyes wide, his hands closing his notebook as he leans away from the desk. Dawn's shoulders sink a little with the weight of the homework. In truth, it was a little too much.

"We better get started then." Dawn reopens his book to check the assignments for a second time. And that's how it continues. Another year of eight-hour weekends at the library, from eight till noon, Dawn and Isaac finish the small stuff before moving on to the essays, only stopping for bathroom breaks and to research books in the library. The rigorous studying pushes their brain activity to their limits, buts it's the only time Isaac has to focus on one thing at a time. Dawn embraces the time as well, because she can be herself a little more, putting effort into caring about Isaac's school work and not her constant actions.

Dawn's phone beeps loudly with the number 12 : 00 P.M. stretched across the screen, signaling that it was time to move on with the rest of the days tasks. Both of them drop their pens on their notebooks at the same time, looking at each other with dejected expressions.

Isaac's the first to get up from his chair.

"Till tomorrow Dawn, breaks." Another name joke thrown her way, and she replies with a soft punch to his shoulder. Isaac laughs it off, but Dawn immediately regrets the action, seeming him react too fast, slightly cowering at her flimsy arms.

"Till then Isaac, and we only have to work on the last of the essays tomorrow." She says cheerfully to lighten the mood. Isaac beams. Knowing that there is less work tomorrow always means that they can talk back and forth more, sharing stories, getting to know each other better, or scrolling through lines of text in the libraries bookshelves. He walks Dawn out to her car and they go their separate ways.

On Sunday, she returns to the library bright and early, Isaac a little late as usual. They finish school work, throwing stories back and forth to each other, and a new school week rolls around. With regrets, Dawn always walks into the building on Monday. At school, her guard is always up, not willing to talk to anyone, and trying too hard to stay out of everything. Isaac barely ever notices Dawn's behavior in school, because he, himself, can't push himself to stay awake for more than 10 minutes in classes. But as always, his assignments are neatly turned in on time on Monday, like they've been for the past year. Showing off his true intellect, the teachers are always pleased, but bittersweet at the knowledge of Isaac's lack of attention in class. Dawn's papers always pass by the teacher, the usual A grade, if it was anything less, it might have caught their attention, but she always does her best. Her grades have stayed the same level since grade school, so it comes to no surprise like it does with Isaac's on his assignments.

Just like that, Dawn's routine is back to normal. School through the week, long hours in the library on the weekends, always studying, chatting so often with Isaac. This is how it goes, and this is how it always has been. The knowledge of the routine always calms Dawn, knowing nothing ever deviates can settle her nerves more than a full length track of one of Bach's suites or waves crashing into the ocean. She goes unnoticed, and unscathed.


	3. Wh

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

Okay, longerish chapter. And I know you guys are all, "Where the hell is Stiles". Calm your tits, his coming soon. I'm sorry I'm trying to establish some kind of character background. Be patient, you don't know what Chapter 4 has installed for you.

* * *

School, home, study, dinner, sleep. Repeat. Every day, Dawn, did the same ritual. After a while, the days began to blend together, and with no significance towards them, it felt like a blink of an eye and the weekend would pass. Routinely, after returning from the library, Dawn would entertain herself with music, in the form of piano or cello, or watching TV. As always, her parents were unsurprisingly absent, consumed with business trips, marriage counseling, long hours at the office, and dodging the other spouse. They spent so much time hating each other, Dawn went unnoticed. It wasn't like she even cared, Dawn rejoiced in the lack of attention. Sometimes a conversation would spark up between a parent, about what she was up to lately. Dawn would panic; consumed by the possible sudden interest in her social life leading to unwanted parental supervision. By the time Dawn replied, her mom or father had already turned their attention away from her, causing Dawn to scold herself for being concerned over such a highly unlikely scenario.

Instead of talking to her parents, she talked to the world through her music, to Isaac in the library, and to herself in her head. All the social interaction for her happened right there. In contrast, the school grapevine was bursting with news. As the school year had progressed, more and more animal attacks had happened lately along with a winning streak from the lacrosse team. When Dawn was in school, it's all she heard coming from the passersby's'.

Since the start of school; four weekends at the library had passed. Dawn gradually learned more about Isaac as he started to open up. She learned about how he had asked Lydia out last year, ending up being humiliated in front of his peers. Through cryptic words, Dawn discovered the habits of Isaac's vocally abusive father. Sometimes, Dawn would reassure Isaac that someday, things would get better, but more than not, Dawn never knew what to say. After those conversations, Isaac always looked so broken, and she knew that Isaac could not be fixed by her influence. Dawn and Isaac walked an invisible line between acquaintances and friends, no great circumstances of events had pushed their friendship further.

For the fifth weekend in a row, Dawn walked into the library on a cold autumn morning. She walked back to the usual place, plopping down, pulling out books. Looking forward to a productive morning, Dawn flipped open her book and stared at it, clicking her pen on and off. After about five minutes, Isaac had yet to show up. Isaac was always a little late, but never this much. Dawn shrugged it off and started on her assignments, determined not to waste all of her time. When she looked at the clock again, it was 9:43. The sinking feeling in her stomach sickened Dawn instantly. With doubt, she assured herself that maybe Isaac was just sick. Too sick to text her he couldn't make it. No missed calls, possibly too sick to leave a voicemail. Looking back down to her book, Dawn struggled brushed it off, turning her focus back on her work.

Noon rolled around, noting the end of the homework session. She looked around once more to double-check if Isaac was there, hiding in the bookshelves. For the first time in a long time, Dawn walked herself back to her car, the air colder than normal. Too much was on her mind. Due to Isaac's absence, Dawn had spent most of the time preoccupied with thought of where the fuck could he be, and so, her usual amount of homework done dwindled terribly. Before entering her car, she thought it was a good idea to check in on Isaac herself. The call went straight to voicemail.

"Hey Isaac, its Dawn. So, um, yeah, where the hell where you today? Whatever. I got a shit ton of homework done, so you'll just have to catch up on your own time. I'll see you tomorrow I hope." Refraining from saying go fuck yourself, she hung up her phone and drove home.

Sunday rolled around. This time, Dawn took her time walking into the library. Unsure of Isaac's attendance to the study sessions, she wasted her time among the library stacks. Thirty minutes had passed, and no sign of Isaac. Whatever string of friendship with Isaac he had apparently forgotten. Just like that, she was overlooked by someone she was beginning to trust. Dawn wanted to be angry, but she also wanted to be rational. Isaac could've had a legitimate excuse, or he could've really been a real asshole. She wanted to flip tables, but she wanted to also remain calm. This is what she wanted and she should be been grateful. Fighting the two emotions, Dawn immersed herself in her work. She wrote too hard on her papers, furiously typing away at the keypad, breaking the lead off her pencil, and slammed her textbooks closed. It was about all that one could do to rebel in a library without causing destruction or drawing attention. When she returned home, she played her instrument louder and faster than usual. Only stopping when she slipped her hand and cut her finger on the string of the bow, did Dawn put the cello away. Giving up on music for the day, she fell upon her bed. Berated, Dawn went through the possible scenarios in the past weeks when Isaac's behavior had changed. There was no inconsistency in his manner, his was the same Isaac: always a little scornful of doing homework, constantly poking fun at Dawn's name, and a mad passion towards understand the psych of their history professor. No deviation had occurred, but maybe Dawn had slipped. Frustrated, Dawn closed her eyes, and amidst all her thoughts, fell asleep.

On Monday, Dawn woke up at 5, the same time she did every day. She didn't feel any better than she did yesterday. She still felt deceived, stupid. Her usual, early morning run went by faster, so she spent the extra time kicking the side of the tree in her front yard. Her neighbor, around the age of seventy, gave her weird looks, but she didn't give a shit. The tree sure as hell didn't care. After, she felt like an idiot, and embarrassingly made her way inside. Dawn got ready; taking a shower, combing her hair, throwing on jeans and a shirt, then went on her way to school. _Fuck Mondays_. Angry thoughts rolled across her mind. _Fuck school, fuck this place, and fuck Isaac and his bullshit_. She parked her car and walked towards the entrance of her school.

Almost. She was almost too angry to listen to the usual banter of gossip that went about the halls but she still listened in.

"Did you hear?"

"Oh my god, I know right. I can't believe –"

"Isaac Haley"

That stopped Dawn. Isaac, part of the school gossip? What was going on? Dawn tilted her head towards the group of girls talking as she opened her locker, catching nibbles of gossip.

"I heard he killed his father in cold blood."

"Really? I heard his father got in a crash, chasing after him when he ran out of the house.

"I heard his under investigation for the death of his father."

Sudden knowledge, epiphanies, discovery, hit Dawn. Isaac hadn't been sick, he wasn't ditching her. But he sure as hell wasn't in the zone to talk to, like ever. Talking to Isaac would draw a lot of attention, way too much for Dawn to risk yelling at him.

She turned away from the group of girls, quickly walking to her next class.

The days went by, and the police search for Isaac ensued. Dawn learned that Isaac's father, Mr. Lahey, died in a supposed car accident that might be linked to the animal attacks, but the police suspected Isaac because some guy from the lacrosse team said he saw them fighting earlier. They didn't even know half the story. It never occurred to Dawn that Isaac's home life was that bad, that Isaac wanted to run away. Sure, she knew his father was a total ass to Isaac, but he was an ass to everyone. She never knew it was that bad, but then again, she wasn't completely oblivious to all of it.

In the middle of the school week, gossip had sparked again; Isaac was found by the police. Classes could not be tamed for regular lessons, this was the biggest piece of hot shit since Ice Cube came to town. But before it could even get bigger, it stopped. Isaac stepped into school the next day, and the halls were silent, its inmates walking around like ghosts. There he was, strutting down the halls with some Erica chick and her supposed epilepsy that obviously went away. Dawn was happy – for him – he wasn't dead, or in a jail cell. On Saturday, she waited in the library. On Sunday, she waited again. No-show Isaac had struck again.

School rolled around again, and down snaked her way through the building. Erica and Isaac had started to attract "positive" attention from the school population, and along with their reputation, their egos had begun to rise. It became clear that Isaac and Erica presence in the school halls was not a friendly one. Dawn could hear their taunting of other students while sitting in the back of her classes. As the weeks passed, Erica and Isaac had developed an unhealthy game, where every day they picked on someone new. Taunted, usually a girl, for a day – saying things right behind her, Isaac acting interested, Erica talking smack, and then Isaac talking smack. The game was revolting to Dawn, and she was sure many of the girls grew fearful every day that they would be picked. Dawn knew she would be safe, Erica didn't know who the hell she was and Isaac, well Isaac completely forgot about her since his father's "accident".

Two weeks since Isaac's return, and Dawn knew something was up. She could just sense it, and upon looking up from her usual walk down the hallway, she knew. It was that fucking bitch Erica. Since whatever happened to her epilepsy cure, she was always more aware of everything. And today, Dawn could tell she was bored. Looking up was a mistake, and Erica looking around the halls, her eyes landing upon Dawn's was a _hell no_ in her book. She booked it out of there. Dawn headed straight to the school library, a supposed haven for her, at least among the school. Leaning against the shelves, Dawn tried to breathe. Somehow, some fucking way, Erica just had to pick her today. She knew it was going to happen. Even if it was only for a day, unwanted attention drew eyes; Erica's tactics always drew attention.

Dawn pushed through the day, hearing the things Erica said made her sick. She didn't know shit about Dawn, and only made up disgusting stories. Stories of her being a slut, unwanted by her parents, a stupid bitch, drug addict, she threw everything at Dawn. Erica didn't care what she said, she just wanted a reaction. The stories grew malicious as the day went on. That wasn't even the worst part. She wanted to throw up the moment Isaac joined in. He didn't even hesitate. Dawn felt him smirk, mimicking Erica's behavior, ready to kill.

It was the worst day Dawn had ever experience so far in high school. She was almost known, but rather luckily, no one felt like listening to Erica much that day, especially after a murderer was found for all the supposed killings, only to have him committed suicide. She would never forget that day, partly for her humiliation, but because of the demeanor of the place. It almost made her reach out to people, and let them talk. Somehow, she made it through the day.

Then Friday came, and since Isaac no longer showed up to the library, Dawn had gone at all sorts of times. And this Friday, during the lacrosse game, she had no better place to be but at the library. She stayed until close. Being the last to leave, even after the librarian, she started to walk toward her car.

"Excuse me, miss?"

Dawn snapped around, the adrenaline pushing through her veins.

"What?" She stared up to the man, his face darkened in the night-light. _Oh thank god_. She forced herself to calm down.

"I said excuse me, miss. I was wondering if you could help me take these stacks of books to my car." His arms lifted, showing Dawn the column of books he was hold.

"Uh, sure." She stuttered, calming down. With a smile, she grabbed about five books from his arms.

"It's just over there." He directed with his chin. She looked past his shoulders, to see only one more car in the parking lot, all the way at the end.

As they walked over to the other side, Dawn wondered. She hadn't seen him in the library, especially when she walked out with the librarian. With each step towards the car, her heart quickened. _Bad decision, bad decision_. The chant repeated in her mind. Turning her face, Dawn tried to identify his features, if something happened. But damning the new moon, she couldn't see shit besides the outline of his nose. Cursing at herself, she smiled at the man as he turned his head towards her.

"Here it is," he popped open the trunk, "just place them in."

"No problem." She breathed. _Thank god_. This guy wasn't some creep. Relieved, she let go of the books, sliding them out of her sweaty palms, into the trunk.

"Thank you so much." She could hear the smile in his voice. Well, at least he's nice.

"Really it's no big deal." Dawn proclaimed as she straightened up, beginning to turn to face him. Almost hitting her head of the hood, she bent down a little more in order to avoid it.

"Well, see you tomorrow, Dawn."

With a blink of an eye, she stopped, beginning to turn her head to face him. It was like all the lights were flashing in her head. Every single instinct was telling her to run.

"Wh-"

And she was out.


	4. Oh My God

Author's Note: Hey! It's been a while, I know. I've just been working on school stuff, I'm a terrible person. But I also took my time with this chapter, because it's like...different from the previous ones. Oh my gosh, I'm so nervous just posting this. Okay, here, read it. Ok bye.

* * *

"Stiles!"

Awakening suddenly from his daydream, Stiles flailed in his chair, snapping his head at Scott.

"What!?"

"Don't glare at me, what are you doing sleeping? This is important." Scott retorted.

Stiles eyes widened, "What am I doing sleeping? I dunno, it's like two in the morning. What am I supposed to be doing?" He leaned back into his car seat, preparing to go back to sleep.

Scott reached over and shook him awake, receiving another loud remark from Stiles.

"You're supposed to be watching. We're on a lookout."

"Yeah, a lookout on a hopeless mission. Listen, Gerard has been gone for two days, he's out of the town already. Why would he stay in Beacon Hills, just to die?" Stiles pointed out, causing an eye roll from Scott.

"We're watching the building for any movement."

"Yes," Stiles nodded sarcastically, "The building in which I was kidnapped to and beat up. That building, that I am now stuck watching at two o'clock in the morning. Tell me again why _I_ am doing this?"

Scott leaned back in his seat, "Shut up and keep watch."

Stiles rolled his eyes and looked out the driver's window, away from Scott. "Keep watch, I'll show you keep watch, watching all the stupid trees in the world." He mumbled to himself. Stiles eyelids slowly dropped and again, he slipped into sleep.

"Hey!"

"WHAT?" Again, Stiles was rudely awakened by Scott McCall. Looking over at the dash, he noted that only 45 minutes had passed.

"Why did you go to sleep?"

Stiles stared incredulously at Scott, "Well, I don't know. It's a school night; I'm not a wolf with supernatural powers. So, as I teenage boy I'm going to be really fucking tired in about six hours."

Scott sighed, before opening the car door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Stiles called out after him, already fearing that he would be stuck by himself, alone, again.

"Inside." Scott's voice called out in the dark, the sound of his footsteps crunching the leaves signaled his was walking farther away, towards the house.

"You said we were supposed to keep watch!" Stiles shouted as he climbed out of the car. _All this shouting really isn't helping the whole keep watch idea_. Stiles just wanted to be back home, asleep in his bed, dreaming about Lydia.

"Then you stay in the car." Scott replied, his voice the only thing showing he was even out there.

Stiles turned around towards the car, "Don't mind if I do." There was no way he was getting back into that house. Nu-uh, no way. After settling in the car, Stiles fidgeted with the radio. The eerie silence of the automobile, combined with the constant chirping of crickets was starting to bug Stiles. He drummed his fingers against the wheel, trying to exert some energy out of him. For about five minutes, he traded off fidgeting with his hands, changing the radio, and moving the car seat up and down.

Then when he couldn't take it no more, he got out of the car. It's the feeling of complete aloneness that hit Stiles the moment the door swung open. In the night, after a certain hour, there comes a point where an individual can feel completely and utterly alone, even with someone by their side. Stiles stepped out of the car, feeling this, suffocating in the silence of the world at that moment. It was the kind of nervousness that he always felt before something drastic came. He tried to shake off the feeling as he walked his way towards the house.

"Scott!" Ringing out in the empty hallway of the building, Stiles searched for a sign of McCall. No answer. Stiles drew out his cellphone, speed dialing Scott's number.

"What?" Scott voice picked up after the second ring. At the same time, Stiles heard a creaking sound from down the hallway.

"Where are you?" Stiles hoped that Scott didn't sense how nervous he was. After swallowing the dry lump in his throat, he stepped into the hallway.

"I'm upstairs." Scott paused, the sound of metal moving against linoleum rang through the phone and a suppressed replication drummed through the ceiling. "I think I found something."

A little reassured, Stiles walked down the hallway more. His footsteps echoed off the walls, circling around him before disappearing in the silence.

"When you say something, that implies a vague answer. What do you mean _something_?"

"I mean like-"

Scott's voice was cut off by the objects being tossed over and a quiet groan.

"Scott!" Stiles shouted into the phone, quickening his pace towards the end of the hall, where he guessed the stairs were. His heart quickened with the thought of Scott injured, leaving him alone.

"What?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, why the hell do you think I wouldn't be?" Scott's annoyed voice came through the phone.

Confused Stiles replied, "I thought –". He paused, hearing a louder, more distressed groan coming from the door next to him. Stiles knew Scott was upstairs. His heart thumped against his chest; frightened by what lied behind the door. _Nothing as bad as a Kanima at least_. Scott repeated to himself, attempting to reassure his doubtful mind.

"Don't be a pussy Stiles." His shaky voice spoke out loud in an attempt to calm himself. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath whilst placing his hand on the steel door._ Come on, just open it_. Holding his breath, he shoved the door open. The metal grated across the floor, sending a high-pitched screech through Stiles' ears. It wasn't the sound that overpowered him, but the smell. The smell of rot both dried and fresh blood, sweat, grime, and death; it attacked him. Eyes still closed, he drew his arms around his nose, trying to stop the onslaught. Stiles immediately turned around, puking his contents onto the floor. Eyes closed, Stiles could feel the small flicker, possibly of a candle or dying bulb, against his eyelids. With a shaky breath he turned around and opened his eyes.

"Oh, my god."

The sight of what Stiles looked upon was so much worse than when he had imagined. The barely lit room was empty; its walls and floors stained with blood and other odd colored stains. Then, off to the side, a steel bar was drilled into a wall with a meat hook hanging from it. The hook swung back and forth, a rope cascading tightly from it. As Stiles eyes trailed farther down, the rope led to a tightly wound pair of hands which were painted with trails of blood leading down to out-of-place arms.

"What the fuck"

The horror was in front of Stiles. But he had no idea what he was looking at. The hands led to a badly battered body, hanging from the bar. Its arms obviously dislocated, and covered in dried blood. Gagged at the mouth, and tied at the feet again, the victim was unconscious.

"Scott!"

Stiles called out in the hallway before returning to the room, scrambling to untie the rope. His sweaty hands gnawed at the raw rope, scratching at them in whatever way possibly. Finally setting the rope free, the body slumped onto Stiles. Feeling the limp weight, he noticed that it was a girl. Not that it really made any difference, he already was scared for this person's life. But as he grabbed the waist to hoist over his shoulder, his hands covered the miniscule waist. Fingers gripped against bone, and then Stiles looked again. Her body thinned sharply at every angle. Stiles was reminded of those scarily thin models that walked on runways, never being hospitalized because they were getting the job done.

"Stiles!" Scott's voice shot through the room, his rapid footsteps approaching Stiles. He took one look around the room before racing to him. Scott's eyes stared back at Stiles and the girl, widening in shock.

"Stiles" It was a whisper filled with pain and sadness coming from Scott.

He couldn't answer, so scared he began to shake violently. It took all of his willpower to tear his eyes away from the body to Scott.

He stuttered. "Is-is-is she dead." Scott's mind clicked instantly, tuning his ears in, tuning out Stiles' own rapid heart, listening for any sign. So small, so quiet, her heartbeat took too long to come alive and left too quickly for her to have much time.

"No, but she's not going to be alive for much longer if we leave her here." It was the smartest thing he'd said all day. In a flash, Stiles ran out the door, body in tow, Scott trailing behind. The wind rushed past his eyes, his footsteps breaking every possible twig, branch, rock that was on the ground. The sound of more than two pairs of feet grew apparent, but Stiles was solely focused on getting to the car. Even with the animal growl and the echo of trees rustling, he willed himself forward. She needed to go to the hospital. She was dying.  
He gasped for air upon arriving at the Jeep, his hands searching for the door handle as he yanked it open. Carefully placing her upon the back seat, he buckled her in with all three seat belts, closed the door, and rushed to the driver's seat.

"SCOTT!" Stiles yelled, but his voice only echoed in the plain. "Fuck it." He murmured to himself, turning the ignition on, gearing it to reverse, and stepping on the gas.

Every law, every stop sign, and every speed limit was ignored. Minutes rolled by, and with every glance backward, Stiles grew more frantic. He couldn't stop himself from rubbing his head, repeating about fifty oh my god's or biting his lip. Half-mindedly, he searched for his phone.

"Where the fuck it is?" He yelled at himself, feeling the slick surface with his thumb in his pocket before a _thwack_ hit the gear box, disappearing into the car seat.

"You've got to be kidding me!" His foot pushed the gas pedal farther down.

Ten more minutes slipped by before Stiles finally slowed down to keep the car from flipping. The gleaming red EMERGENCY sign of the hospital stood before him as he scrambled out of the car. It wasn't like the movies when the nurses and doctors rushed out of the doors to the arrival in the car. No, it was silent, as Stiles freaked out on the inside, his hands clumsily attaching the seatbelts and pulling her out. The sweat dripped out his forehead and poured out of his palms, making it harder to hold on. The eerie silence as he waddled towards the sliding doors proved so much more that his life wasn't a movie. The nurse in the ward was half asleep on the desk as he entered the room, gripping onto the girl.

He looked around, bewildered, as he saw Scott's mom come out of the bathroom. Her eyes lifting up from the floor and landing on Stiles.

"Stiles" Surprised, her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Then, Ms. McCall saw what he held in his arms. And her voice got firm, the way that it's been whenever Scott's werewolf stuff pops up now that she knew. "What's going on?"

He felt the rush of heat as exhaustion hit his body, his grip failing.

Stammering, Scott let it out. "I-I-I need some help." The nausea built up on his throat. His ears ringed. His vision blurred and buzzed. The dizziness made him lose his sense of balance as he tipped over. Before landing, he quickly remembered the girl, turning on to his side in order to save her from harm. The rush of the staff coming towards him, and Scott's mom yelling for a doctor. And then his head landed with a hard thump. And he was out.


	5. Jane Doe

Hey guys, sorry for the extended amount of time it took me to update this story. I'm sorry, I don't know what is wrong with me. Well, I wanted to make sure I published this chapter before the New Year's so hear it is. I haven't really gotten the time to double check it and all, so any really bad grammar mistakes or just major flaws, please feel free to yell at me.

Love you guys very much and I am working on the next chapters. Happy Festivus!

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"Why don't we just say we found her on the side of the road like it was a hit and run and call it a day. We don't have to stop by and check on her. Hell, she was left for dead, I don't think whatever 'attacked' her really cares anymore."

Scott looked incredulously at his best friend, "Stiles! What are you talking about? This is a person!"

"Yeah, a person that is not our problem." Stiles retorted back.

The janitor's door closet slammed open, revealing Derek's muscular silhouette.

"Too late for that Stiles. Because of you, idiot, we're in this mess. You found her, you brought her to the hospital, and she's _your_ problem." Derek dictated at Stiles before walking away, Scott following as he looked back at Stiles. His best friend slammed his head against the wall in frustration. Tempted, Scott wanted to consult his best friend, but at the same time he was disgusted by Stiles had belittled the girl not less than a minute ago.

With Derek's words, Stile's found himself making his way to the Intensive Care wing of Beacon Hills Medical Hospital._ This is bullshit_. Stiles clenched his left fist as he placed his hand upon the glass door.

"Ulm, sir?"

Stiles whipped his head around looked at the nurse.

"This is the ICU, only family members are allowed beyond this point." The nurse pointedly said at Stiles before looking back at his board.

"And last I checked Stilinksi, was not on the list of approved visitors."

Stiles let out a quick groan of frustration, "No, you've got it wrong. You see, I brought her in here! I just need to check-"

"Family or no admittance." The nurse's ultimatum ended the conversation as he walked into the ICU wing, leaving Stiles standing there in disbelief.

"You've got to be kidding me." Stiles sat down in the nearby chairs before the ICU entrance.

"I don't like joking around that much Stiles." Isaac's voice interrupted Stiles' one sided conversation. Shocked he jumped to the opposite side of his chair.

"Isaac, what are you-"

"Doing here? I would ask myself the same question but then again, its Derek's orders to make sure you do what you're supposed to be doing. And his orders for me to stay, well, out of _trouble_." Isaac played with his fingers before glancing at Stiles, while creeping him out.

"Great." Stiles let out as he leaned back into the barely padded hospital chair.

"Feeling the same way too." Isaac remarked before flipping open an outdated hospital magazine.

He looked around the hallway before landing his eyes on the glass. If only he could get through those doors, then he'd actually be near her, actually taking care of the problem. But who was he kidding, it's not like he even cared. Stiles searched through his mind for every possible scenario that could've taken place. He could've stayed in the jeep, gone upstairs, or slowed down on his way back to the car. Anything could've fixed where he was now, in this perpetual hell of purgatory.

"Jane Doe."

Stiles snapped out of his narcissistic thoughts to Isaac looking in the same direction as Stiles.

"What?"

Isaac looked at Stiles and rolled his eyes.

"How do you get anything done, look," whacking Stiles in the head, "the name on the door. Jane Doe."

Looking back at the ICU, Stiles saw one of the nurses writing the name Jane Doe on the whiteboard of the girl's hospital room.

"They don't know who she is." Stiles said in disbelief. The rush of relief he had waited for, knowing who he had saved, was held tight inside of him.

"That's usually why the name Jane Doe is given. An unidentified female person." Isaac muttered as he leaned back into his chair.

Stiles ransacked his brain for any other way to figure out her identity.

"Won't the fingerprints tell them who she is or the blood samples?"

"Those all take time. Fingerprints, a couple of days, blood tests to match with previous records, a couple of weeks. Shouldn't you know that as a Sheriff's son?"

Stiles was getting tired of Isaac snide remarks. Any response was somehow insulting, even in the smallest way. Instead of giving back a sarcastic sentiment, Stiles ignored Isaac and looked back at the glass.

Jane Doe. An unidentified female. Age, 16 to 18. That's all Stiles knew about her, besides finding her in a room that looked like it came out a poverty house from the French Revolution. But sure, the cops totally knew that this is where Jane Doe's injuries came from. Nope, strict orders from Derek was to make sure the story said that Stiles found her alongside of the road to the convenience store for some more refreshments in his quest to cram for the next day's test. It was the only way to convince his dad that he was out at three in the morning on a Monday, driving along a road into town. But Stiles couldn't help but wonder if that lie was preventing Jane Doe from receiving more or less help in the ICU room. Sure, they had classified it as a hit and run case, but would she be receiving more attention if they knew her real state.

"Stiles, could you stop breathing like a mad man for just five seconds." Isaac blurted out, as he leaned over. Stiles, quickly feeling self-conscience, closed his mouth and held his breath.

"Dislocated shoulder on both sides. Three broken ribs, five bruised, bruised collarbone, concussion in the parietal ridge, multiple lacerations around the body. Jesus, Stiles, what the hell happened to this chick?" Isaac straightened his back as he looked back at Stiles.

"What? How? What did you just do?"

Isaac wiggled his fingers in front of Stiles, mocking him "Wolf powers."

With a scoff, Stiles folded his arms and looked away from Isaac.

"Listen, Stiles. If you want to help this person, you won't be able to magically heal her wounds or avenge her. The best you can do is use your detective powers to find out who the hell she is." That got Stiles attention, for once; Isaac wasn't being a total ass.

"Detective powers only work if I know where the hell to start idiot." Ah, sweet revenge. Stiles smirked back at Isaac in sweet revenge. And yet, Isaac only replied with a chuckle.

"A good place to start with this girl is probably in the Beacon Hills yearbook. She doesn't look like a college student." Isaac rubbed his temples, clearly frustrated with Stiles.

"Yeah, that a good plan and all. But wait!" Stiles mocked back at Isaac, "If I remember clearly, you and I are both stuck here, in this hospital, until this whole mess is sorted out."

Both of the boys leaned back in their prospective chairs, out of options, and out of any motivation to look further. Eventually, Stiles got fed up, mostly from his want for a nice cold soda. He stood up, telling Isaac he was going to the vending machine. Upon reaching his destination, he silently hoped that this time he wouldn't accidentally knock it over like the last. After a successful transaction, he made his way back.

A movement in the ICU caught his eye upon his return. A nurse walked over to Room 103, Jane Doe's hospital room, erasing the name. It felt like hours before she revealed the name, and it the stress grabbed Stiles by the back of his neck while he was waiting. A shock hit him when he saw the name.

Dawn Adams.

He had no idea who she was, and when he looked to Isaac in the mound of chairs that they had conversed, he was gone.


	6. No One is Okay in the End

** Note**: Woah. Another update! Well, this is a big one. Over 2,000 words. Of course, I'm sure an abundance of grammar mistakes and forgotten words. I, of course, thank you guys so much. I thank all my followers and reviewers. Now, I'll just go listen to happy music to get out of my angst-ridden plot. Have fun!

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For reasons unknown, Stiles could not go to sleep. If had been over 24 hours since he had sat in his Jeep with Scott. Since the discovery of Dawn's name, he just sat in that chair. Looking at his phone, he couldn't find her on the school's social networking site, Facebook, or twitter. He couldn't leave to check the yearbooks. He wanted to call Scott, but he wouldn't answer his phone. That was because of two reasons, he was around Allison and still made at his comment earlier. Isaac had left in a hurry for no reason. Boyd and Erica came periodically, carrying takeout, to check if Stiles was still waiting. He had answered more questions from the police. His father had come, asking him if he was okay.

And honestly, Stiles wasn't okay. But nobody wanted to hear that. They didn't want to know that Stiles couldn't handle it anymore. Knowing her name made everything worse. To Stiles, it felt like she was actually a person, someone he knew. It made it worse; it made a pain throb in his chest when he thought of how he had found her, all the marks on her, and how she was _almost dead_. It made the waiting unbearable. Hours had ticked by while he sat on the uncomfortable cushion on the hospital chair.

Piling it all up, Stiles couldn't sleep. It wasn't the shock. No, he was holding in all the pain because there was no outlet. There was no monster to hit. There was no wall to punch. Stiles just sat there, zombified.

He felt guilty, feeling this way. If it were Scott, Stiles would have worried, sent calls, helped the police with the reports, and checked on his dad. But being selfish, was just what Stiles wanted. He wanted someone here that could take care of her. No one was here. Sure, the nurse that made her rounds, the janitor mopping the floor, and the officer filling out paper work were here. But the girl's parents, relatives, friends, acquaintances? No sign. Sheriff Stilinksi had made some calls to notify the parents, but Stiles wasn't sure if any of them made it past an assistant, voice-mail, or brain wave of a person.

It was like this girl was nobody, but at the same time, here she was: Dawn Adams, seventeen, straight-A junior at Beacon Hills High. She had a life, maybe a quiet one, but she had to have somebody. And if not, Stiles would be there. Even though he hated having the added responsibility and the never-ending waiting, Derek was right, she couldn't be alone, and he couldn't just leave the situation. This was his problem now, and he was going to fix it.

And that would start to happen if the damn girl would wake up.

He damned himself for not asking Boyd to bring a charger the next time he came. Stiles' phone was on its last leg, and it was the only thing sustaining his boredom. There he was playing solitaire; he couldn't find a god damn King of Spades. The card was face down, under a huge deck. Banging his head on the wall, Stiles let another frustrated sigh out. He wanted to win just one round. Just one deck, but fuck his luck. He pressed new game, determined to win, and started all over again.

His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his game addiction.

"_Don't worry about school; I called you out for the day. Get some sleep, son._"

Stiles checked the time, seeing that it was well past the first school bell. Sighing, Stiles looked over his shoulder once again at the ICU ward. He expected to see Dawn's door closed. But it stood open, not for a passing nurse, but as in, she was awake.

He had never moved out of a chair and across a room so fast in his life. Stiles stepped through the doors and straight into Dawn's room.

Dawn stared up at the hospital ceiling, thinking about how the hell she had gotten here. All she could remember was being in the library, studying and hoping that Isaac would show up. She had woken up only an hour ago while a nurse was changing her IV. Since then, pain killers and more examinations had occurred. Trauma, shock, comatose state, amnesia, dislocated arms, five broken ribs, multiple bruises and abrasions, internal bleeding in the abdomen, major loss of blood, possible brain contusions and concussions – the doctor sidestepped the minor event of Dawn's heartbeat stopping twice during surgery, something the nurse had told her later, and basically described the state of someone who died.

But here she was. Dawn wondered what it would be like if she had died. It would've been okay, she guessed. Maybe her parents would mourn. A small funeral could take place at the cemetery that Isaac's dad owned. A better part smirked when she played on the idea that Isaac would've felt so much guilt for his treatment towards Dawn for the past weeks.

Yeah, Dawn would've been fine with dying.

She wasn't sad or anything. When Stiles stood in the doorway of the hospital room, he stopped. Here was the girl that he had saved less than 24 hours ago, alive, and recovering to back to a somewhat healthy state. He waited for the weight to lift off his shoulders. The weight of having her as responsibility, and the weight of expectations that both Derek and Scott and the pack placed upon him.

As he heard the steady beep of the EKG, Stiles stood a little taller. But seeing her face made him feel guilty. Because seeing Dawn look up at the ceiling with melancholy visage just didn't seem right. Of course, Dawn was safe now, and with that, he could walk away. But Dawn wasn't okay, or at least for a teenage girl, she was not okay. Reading his father's case files proved thus. Most victims of her age dealt with the situation by forms of denial, venting, and just downright letting it out. But Dawn's face wasn't a look of denial.

Hell, Stiles just wanted more of an ego boost for saving a damsel in distress. Even if it wasn't his intention in the first place. If he was going to save a damsel, she sure as hell better be in distress. But Dawn's demeanor left him without words.

"I wouldn't have been mad."

Stiles jumped as her voice filled the small room, her bruised face expressing her words calmly. He freaked out a bit, because Dawn wasn't talking to herself, she would've done that already. No, she knew that somebody was standing in front of her bed, watching her. He turned to walk away, there would still be time. He didn't think she would've cared all that much. But hell, what did she mean? His curiosity caused him to turn around and slide a chair next to her bed.

Stiles didn't say a word. Dawn, whose eyes never left the ceiling, felt him sit down beside her. Whoever this guy was, she had gotten his attention. And now, she searched the white spotted Styrofoam tiles for the right words to say.

Her jaw clenched open and shut as the words slowly came out, "I wouldn't have been upset over, dying. I mean, if there was an afterlife or anything. If I knew I had died, I know it would've been okay." Dawn took a deep breath, settling in the glow that she had just said her thoughts out loud to a stranger. But damn, it felt good to get it out.

But damn, it racked Stiles with a parade of questions and guilt. That kind of confusion forced Stiles to settle himself in the chair even more, bending over to get closer to Dawn's sort voice. Her eyes skirted the ceiling, afraid to make eye contact with him. If she did, the moment would be over. The priest would be pulling back the screen to look at the confessor, and the secret would be revealed. This, the ambiguous situation that this was, was fine. Dawn exhaled one more time before she turned on her side, away from the stranger. There was really nothing else she wanted to say.

Stiles got the hint, but he sat in the chair for a little longer before getting up. It was so anticlimactic, how he had waited for so long, even against his will, to make sure she was okay. And yeah, he guessed she was; in the fucked up way of her calamity of the situation. This girl would be fine, as far as he knew. Stiles walked out of the room, closing the door behind him, and walked down the hall.

"Stiles!" Scott's warm smile met Stiles gaze. He could only return a half-smile, after walking out of the room. Of course, Scott's smile faltered.

Werewolf senses. Scott definitely heard everything.

Out of courtesy, Scott asked, "How she's doing."

Stiles paused to think.

"She's gonna be okay, I think. I mean; she doesn't remember anything. I guess that's good." Then again, Lydia wasn't okay. But Lydia was different, she was always different. She had survived the bite, somehow tapped into Peter's psych, and saved Jackson with the nauseating power of love. Stiles shrugged off the thought, still freshly wounded by Lydia's decision.

Scott smiled back, which concerned Stiles the most. He had to know what just happened. Instead of pretending everything was fine, Scott would've gone all maternal and projected his guilt on everything.

"That-That's good. I'm just surprised-," Scott slipped before fixing his word choice, "-glad she's, breathing."

There it was. Stiles squinted at his best friend. The deception.

Scott's smile widened as he slapped a hand on his best friend's back.

"Come on, let's go get some lunch." Scott's jaw cocked to the side as he looked at Stiles like he cared.

"No, I'm good." Stiles looked back at the door. "I really should stay here. No one else is-"

"You know what?" Scott interrupted. "You look like shit. You go, get some sleep, take a shower, and I'll keep watch. "He looked at Scott, a little surprised, but grateful. Sleep definitely sounded better than sitting in the waiting room all over again. Of course, Scott was being weird. Usually, he'd be more concerned about Allison's latest tweet than himself.

But Stiles was _tired_.

He thanked Scott, and found his way back to the parking lot. The drive home was vague, and before he registered in his brain that he was home, his body slumped into his bed.

Sleep was good, sleep was fine, sleep was dandy.

Stiles thoughts roamed in the few minutes it took for his conscious to slip. There should be a reason a girl is found badly **beaten** and discarded in a warehouse. It was odd enough that Scott had disappeared as Stiles made his way back to the Jeep that night. And then Scott going into best friend mode, letting Stiles go home while he stayed at the hospital. And then Scott's covering up how he heard the conversation that took place in Dawn's hospital room. It was weird, Scott lying to him. Why? What was even going on? Even weirder was Dawn's creepy calm demeanor. No one was that collective, like ever. No one is okay after that kind of incident. Hell, Stiles wasn't okay. He hasn't been okay since the night he and Scott found Laura Hale's half in the woods.

Stiles wiped the drool crawling down his mouth before closing his eyes completely.

He couldn't stop himself from thinking about it all. No one is okay, not in the end, not after all the closure, hell was there even closure? He kept on thinking about Dawn's words. She can die and be okay with it, content that the world would go on just fine. He could not do that, just die, and be fine with how it ended. Even if his family and friends saw it coming; Stiles didn't have the guts. She either was one of the bravest people he had ever encountered or Dawn literally did not give a shit about anything. She already left the world in her head.

She would've been fine.

Stiles would've gone on with life, never meeting her, or acknowledging her. He would be worrying with the pack over Derek's overbearing broodiness, and Gerard's disappearance.

The image of how his life would've been if Stiles had just stayed in the jeep haunted him.

Disturbed, Stiles shuddered. It wasn't good to think that way. The what-ifs and how he could have easily changed everything. No, he needed to focus on the now.

And now, Dawn was alive albeit barely breathing and the mental state could be debatable.

Dawn was far from okay. Stiles finally thought. Because no one is okay in the end.


End file.
